“Like flourishing trees”
Psalm 1 (May 12, 2024)
It was a “multi-million dollar rain!” So read the headline, referring to recent showers we’ve had here in Saskatchewan. Ian McCreary, who farms near Bladworth, remarked: “We feel pretty blessed right now. … we were so dry … this one is huge for the whole industry.” [1]
We all know water is crucial for life to flourish. It’s not just crops in the fields. Here in our urban landscape, its lawns and gardens and trees.
After a time of drought the grass is sparse and dry, the trees are stressed and leaves are thin. But give us a beautiful spring rain and the place is instantly transformed. The world turns lush and green. There’s still a whole summer ahead of us, isn’t there? But we’re off to a good start.
“Happy are those who delight in the law of the LORD,” says the Psalmist. “They are like trees planted by streams of water … their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.”
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This Psalm sets out two ways before us: Flourishing and withering. Fruitfulness and barrenness. Happiness and sadness.
Either we become like trees that grow full and beautiful and bear much fruit. Or we become like chaff that is empty and blown away.
Which are you? Which would you like to be?
Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; but their delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law they meditate day and night.”
Another word we could use is “blessed.” Here, at the very beginning of the book of Psalms, we’re given a blessing. A “beatitude!”
But notice, it’s a conditional blessing that flows from living a certain way: Not following the advice of the wicked, but delighting in the law of the LORD.
Now we should pause right there and note this phrase may be quite surprising. “Their delight is in the law.” Really? Do you find the law delightful? Do you relish more rules and commandments? Do you stay up at night memorizing city ordinances and building codes?
Is this what makes you want to come to church on a Sunday morning? “O honey, the service was so great today, the Pastor gave us another 20 rules to follow. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
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The way of life. Let’s call it the “Torah way.” Torah is a Hebrew word that is technically translated as “commandments.” And yes, it can refer to more than 600 individual commands contained within the Hebrew scripture.
But that is a very narrow interpretation. In Jewish tradition, Torah refers to the first five books of the Bible, from Genesis to Deuteronomy. These books contain commandments. But there is also so much more!
Think of the creation stories. Think of Noah and the ark. Abraham and Sarah. Joseph and his coat of many colours. Think of the Exodus, and the escape from Egypt through the waters of the sea.
Torah means instruction. Do these stories guide you, inform you? Don’t they tell us who we are, and how to live in this marvellous world that God has given?
The Torah is way more than rules! And in this sense, we can think of the tradition extending even further, to include the whole of scripture: the historical books, the prophets, and the wisdom literature. The Psalms themselves are divided into five sections, which mirror the books of the law.
“Think about these things,” the Psalmist tells us. Meditate on them day and night. Give them your attention. Keep them front and centre, all the time. Do that and you will find blessing.
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In our lives, we’re influenced by all kinds of things: The families we grow up in, our parents and those who went before us. What they taught us. What they did – or didn’t – do. None of us appeared out of nowhere. We carry this baggage forward into the lives we live today.
And we are influenced by the crowd we hang out with. This is especially true in our formative years as teenagers, when that group of peers exerts such a profound influence on our behaviour.
But this never goes away. We are social creatures. We listen to the talk that’s all around us. In the coffee shop, when we get together with our friends.
We listen to the news – whether mainstream or alternative, it matters not. The way we see the world, our outlook, and often our frame of mind, is shaped by the cultural sea we swim in.
The question is, do these things give us life? Do they lead us closer to God, or farther from God? Do we come away from them from finding ourselves refreshed – as though we’ve had a drink of God’s life-giving water? Or do we come away feeling more alienated, angry and dissatisfied?
What nourishes your life and makes it more whole, more complete and more loving? What greens the leaves on your tree?
The words of this Psalm invite us to critical reflection: Which of these two ways do we follow? Is it the Torah way? Is the word of God at the centre of our lives? Is it the living word, Jesus Christ?
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Now listen! Here’s the real invitation of this Psalm, the one that promises blessing:
It’s the invitation to sink our roots more deeply into God. Like a tree near life-giving water. We cannot live without this water. We cannot live, in any meaningful way, without the spiritual nourishment that God provides.
Do the stories of our faith inform and inspire our living? Do the prophets give us hope? Does the poetry of scripture give us language to use in prayer and praise? Does the risen Christ walk with us in every moment?
Today is the last Sunday in the Easter season, and this is what we celebrate: Christ in us, and with us. Jesus guiding the community of his disciples and showing us the way. “I have come that you might have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
Listen to what the apostle Paul prays for us: “that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.” (Ephesians 3:17)
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So we’re back to this beautiful image of a tree planted by streams of water. Trees have different strategies for how to get that water. But the result is the same.
This is a picture of a Cottonwood along a path by the river where Lindsay and I sometimes walk. These trees thrive in prairie river valleys. They depend on the water flooding occasionally, soaking into the ground. When that ground is muddy it provides a receptive base for seeds to begin new life.
And here’s a picture of a large Burr Oak. When the city landscaped the park in our neighbourhood recently they planted several of these. We have one in our back yard.
These trees are drought-tolerant. In times of little rain, they manage to survive by sinking a taproot deep into the ground. A one-year old sapling may have a root almost five feet deep![2]
Do you delight in the Torah? Do you pray? Do you value the community of faith? Do you immerse yourself in God’s free-flowing love?
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I said there were two ways. Here I’m quoting from Leslie Brandt’s translation, “Psalms Now:”
“The man who chooses to live a significant life
is not going to take his cues
from the religiously indifferent.
Nor will he conform to the crowd
or mouth his prejudices
nor dote on the failures of others.”
Brandt wrote these words back in the 70’s, so you’ll understand his exclusively masculine language. Yet I’m struck by how contemporary his description still sounds: religious indifference, conforming to the crowd, mouthing prejudice, doting on the failure of others.
These things are all around us. And sometimes they’re in us too!
There is no life in it. These things are chaff. An empty shell. When the wind blows, they are swept away. “Like sand in a desert storm,” writes Brandt, “or leaves in an autumn wind.”[3]
The world is full of dispute and controversy, and sometimes we find ourselves caught up in it. We’d better be careful to stay rooted in God’s love.
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Two ways, the Psalmist says. Life or death. One way enables us to flourish, like trees planted by streams of water. The other leads to withering up, and leaves falling off, and life slipping away.
When I stand back from this Psalm, I find myself asking, “Could it really be this simple?” Jesus, too, spoke about a path that is wide but leads to destruction, and a road that is narrow that leads to life. (Matthew 7:13-14)
Two choices. So which path are we on? Sometimes I feel like I have a foot on both of them! Which can’t be good. Because as these two ways diverge, I may find myself stretched to the breaking point. Do you feel that way too? Like you’re being torn or pulled in too many different directions? How do you choose the one that leads to life?
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“Trees planted by streams of water ... yield their fruit in season …” In the same way, Jesus said, “Every good tree bears good fruit.” (Matthew 7:17-20)
Does your life bring blessing to others around you? Does it spread God’s goodness and love?
Love is the final measure, I think, since the Torah can be summed up in two simple commands: “Love God and love your neighbour.” (Matthew 22:36-40)
When our lives are rooted in God’s life-giving water, this is the kind of fruit they bear.
I look at these quilts placed in front of us, and I see them as the fruit of lives that are living God’s way. I think of the mothers we honour this day, who have cared for us, nurtured us, and I see that too as a kind of fruit that embodies God’s love.
God’s way leads to life, more life, abundant life. Life for all people. Life that is flourishing!
The singer, Ken Medema, has a piece called the Tree Song. We used to sing it with our children.
“I’ve got roots growing down to the water
I’ve got leaves growing up to the sunshine
And the fruit I bear is a sign of the life in me …
I’m becoming what the Maker of trees has blessed me to be
A strong young tree”[4]
Who are you when you are most alive, when you are thriving? What has the Maker of trees blessed you to be? What does flourishing mean for you in the particular place where you are planted?
The Psalm invites us to live God’s way. To become “like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all they do they prosper.”
I pray that you will be that kind of tree!
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[1] Dayne Patterson · CBC News · Posted: May 07, 2024. https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatchewan/rain-revives-soil-south-farm-season-1.7197235, Accessed May 7, 2024.
[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quercus_macrocarpa, Accessed May 9, 2024.
[3] “Psalms/Now” by Leslie F. Brandt, c. 1973, Concordia Publishing House, p.7.
[4] https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=ken+medema+tree+song+lyrics&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8, Accessed May 11, 2024.
“I am the true vine”
John 15:1-8 (April 27, 2024)
I don’t love knots. I find them frustrating: Knots in my shoelaces. Knots in my camping gear. Knots in ropes and strings and threads that have to be untied. Knots in the garden hose that need to be untangled.
I don’t have patience for them. I don’t know where to begin. They’re like a puzzle that I cannot solve.
What happened to my Boy Scout training? I have badges that tell me I can do this. Bowline, Clove Hitch, Sheet Bend, Reef Knot – I used to know them all! But that knowledge has morphed into a twisted tangle of incomprehension.
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I know that knots can be a positive thing. And what I want to speak about this morning is the beautiful, intertwining of our lives with God. Something that connects us with God, and with each other, and with all creation – in one beautiful relationship of love.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus used the image of a vine. “I am the true vine,” he said.
It’s one of those “I am” statements in the Gospel of John, where Jesus uses the divine name to describe his own life and ministry. Last week he said, “I am the Good Shepherd.” This week he tells us, “I am the true vine. My Father is the vine grower. And you are the branches.”
We are invited to participate in this ongoing relationship between vine and branches: the Heavenly Father, Jesus and his disciples – all interconnected.
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Imagine a grape vine growing from seed: The stalk comes up out of the ground, then it branches off in many directions. And these branches, in turn, split and stretch, and grow in different ways. They weave in and out amongst themselves. They curve around things. They sprout tendrils to hold onto whatever they can.
What we have here is a kind of knot. An inter-weaving of stalk and branch and tendril. The nutrients from the soil flow through the stalk, and into the branches. So the life-force is shared between them. There is a constant flow of energy. When one of those branches becomes separated from the stalk, its life cannot be sustained.
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There’s another image that comes to mind. Maybe you’ve seen these Celtic designs, that have become so popular in recent years, in jewellery or pottery – with the twisting, winding patterns. They’re quite beautiful.
Ancient crosses that stand to this day in places like Ireland and Scotland, were carved from stone with that pattern imprinted on them. As if to say that, through the cross, life is flowing – from God to Jesus to us.
Here’s an example of a Celtic cross. The pattern you see involves a kind of fluid movement, without beginning or end.
In this way, it mirrors the life of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit, eternally existing as three and one, each with their own identity, yet joined together.
Jesus invites us to enter into this life, the life that flows through him, and reaches out to us, and ties us all together.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Celtic_cross_in_Beechwood_Cemetery.jpg" width="171" height="65" />One writer says, “Such a close union between Jesus and the believer is not the privileged experience of saints and mystics alone;” In other words, not just for a special few. Instead, he says, “it is the core of Christian life.”[1]
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“Remain in me, and I will remain in you.” As if to say there’s a danger that we might not remain. That we might decide, foolishly, to cut ourselves off from the vine.
Why on earth would anyone do a thing like that? And yet we do. We have this freedom – this amazing and terrifying freedom – to go our own way. To take our lives, and separate them from the vine, either by neglect or wilful purpose.
And when that happens, our souls – the centre of our lives, the essential part of who we are – begin to wither. And as we wither, we lose our vitality, our fruitfulness. Our faith becomes dry and diminished. We end up being only a faint shadow of what we are intended to be. A little, shrivelled up bit on the end of a vine.
Have there been times when you’ve felt a disconnect between you and God? An emptiness, a loneliness? A great distance? Do you feel shrivelled up?
Maybe it’s part of the natural ebb and flow of our spiritual lives, as we move through different times and seasons. Yet, whatever season it is, God desires for us to experience the free-flowing life and goodness and love that comes from the very heart of God, and travels through Christ, to his disciples.
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“Remain in me,” says Jesus, “and I will remain in you.” “Stay with me. Abide with me.” Did you count how many times that one single word – abide or remain (it’s the same word, translated two different ways) – is repeated in our passage of scripture?
Seven times in English! Eight in the original Greek text. Forty times in the whole Gospel of John, where it seems to be one of Jesus’ favourite expressions.
Don’t let your branch be separated from the vine. Remain in me.
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I think of that hymn we sing near Remembrance Day: “Abide With Me.” It speaks of life and death, and prays that in every moment of change, in every sorrow and loss, that God would be with us.
Which is exactly what Jesus promises. “Stay with me. And I will stay with you.”
“Make your home with me,” is how one translation puts it. Wherever we live, our true home, our “abiding place,” the place where we are deeply rooted in God’s love, does not change.
“Make your home with me, and I will make my home with you.” Let the love of God flow from me to you to neighbour, to stranger. Let it be always present, in all of life.
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This image of vine and branches has to do with being connected. Not living in isolation from God, or others. But living and growing in God’s love. Discovering that is what holds us together. Knowing that common source of life.
Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, speaks of a “deep human disconnect from self, neighbour, earth, and God” that is widespread in our society.
As I reflect on these past few years, it seems to me that our world is becoming more disconnected. More isolated. More separated into camps that don’t know how to communicate. Even within our families, within our churches.
Rallies in the streets, chanting slogans, disparaging our neighbours. This is not what God desires for our lives. When we are rooted in Christ, growing deeper in the life and love he gives, we are drawn closer to one another. Connections are strengthened.
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It seems to me that this is exactly the message God has for us at this particular moment in our lives! These next few months our congregation will be discussing future directions. We are living through a time of change. We may be grieving loss. We may be fearful, uncertain where God is taking us.
Well … welcome to the world of Jesus’ disciples! Who also lived through these same sort of things. It wasn’t always smooth sailing for them.
“Stay with me!” Jesus said. Stay close to me. Abide with me.
This is what the community of faith is meant to be: an “abiding place.” A community that, every day, is soaking up the nourishment that comes from Christ.
I am the vine. You are the branches. Whatever happens, stay close to me. Let my life be in you!
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Living with other branches is never easy.
One church I know of had a lovely idea. They had an artist hand paint a vine on one of the hallways. And all the members of the church put their handprint somewhere beside the vine. Whenever anyone new joined the church, their handprint would be added to the mural.
It’s a great illustration of how our lives are joined together as disciples of Jesus.
But the pastor of that church also acknowledged that living together can be a challenge. One member, whose handprint is right next to another, may say something offensive. They may gossip behind their back. They may act in a way that is harmful and threatens to tear that community apart.[2]
Only when we are rooted in a gospel of enduring love and tender mercy are we able to be God’s people.
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The goal of living on the vine, being connected to Christ, is always to bear fruit. It’s not just about knowing Jesus, and receiving his life within. It’s about allowing his life to work through us to bear fruit in the world. When God’s love takes hold of us, all kinds of good things can happen!
Travellers from Thailand may be welcomed. And some may catch their contagious enthusiasm for the gospel. Small donations may be offered to support the work of restorative justice. Comforters may be crafted with care. Young people may commit themselves to one another in marriage. Seniors may find companionship and support.
Do you know any place like that? Could we be that place? When the Spirit of Christ is flowing in us and through us, the kingdom of God becomes real, more than just a nice idea. It takes on flesh and blood in the world we live in.
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“I am the vine; you are the branches. If anyone remains in me and I in them, they will bear much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing.” Nothing.
When we’re disconnected, we wither. But when we’re joined to the vine, we live! We are fruitful. And God’s good creation flourishes.
Remain in me. Stay connected. Hold together. Let my life and love be in you, and flow through you to others. May it be so! Amen.
[1] JOHN R. DONAHUE | MAY 13, 2000 in “America: The National Catholic Weekly,” http://www.americamagazine.org/content/article.cfm?article_id=2081, Accessed May 3, 2012.
[2] Thom M. Shuman, Transitional Pastor Galloway Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio, Associate Member, Iona Community, Midrash, April 26, 2018.
“I am the good shepherd …”
Psalm 23; John 10:11-18 (April 21, 2024)
On Canada’s East Coast there is an island called Grand Manan. When our children were young, we used to vacation there. It was a long drive from Ontario, where we lived. It’s even farther from Saskatchewan. It’s been years since we’ve been back. But we have fond memories of that place. And one of them has to do with hiking along the coast. There’s a network of trails around the island.
One section of trail goes past this natural feature: Can you see the white rocks scattered above the shoreline? The locals call it “the flock of sheep” - so named by fishers on their boats because, from a distance, they resembled sheep grazing at the edge of the water. Of course the giveaway, the thing that tells you these really aren’t sheep, is they never move. They stay in the same place day after day, year after year.
They’re not like the flock that God shepherds, the flock which is you and me. The stones are not living. They don’t get hungry – they need no pasture. They have no enemies – they need no protection. No guidance, no rest, no comfort, no care.
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People of faith know God’s loving care in their lives each and every day. In fact, we cannot live without it. We need God’s love especially when we walk through dark valleys: Whenever we feel lost, or afraid. When we are tired. When we are grieving. We need to know that God is with us.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …” We sang the words of that Psalm just a few minutes ago. They’ve been set to some lovely melodies over the years, but the one we just sang, “Crimond,” may be one of the most familiar.
“The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want,
He makes me down to lie
in pastures green, he leadeth me
the quiet waters by.”
My earliest memory of this Psalm (which, by the way, lies behind the words of Jesus in our Gospel reading,) is sitting at the breakfast table with Aunt Jean and Uncle Donald. I spent summer holidays with them on the farm. And they thought it would be good for me to learn this Psalm.
So in the morning, when breakfast was finished, I would say to them as much as I could by memory. And they would correct me. And the next day we’d do it all again. By the end of the holiday I had it down. And I’ve never, for a moment in my life, regretted it!
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Do you recall when you first heard it? Or a special moment when it was used? Perhaps you overheard others. Or maybe you said it yourself – as I have,
on so many occasions. At a funeral service as mourners try to make sense of death or find a source of consolation in their hour of need. In the hospital, when I go to visit and, if it seems the right thing to do, I will ask if I could read scripture. “Anything in particular?” Often it is this. And once or twice it’s been me, lying in that hospital bed, searching for words that remind me I am not alone. That the one who made me is with me, even in that lonely place.
The Psalm has been especially significant when I have had big decisions to make, and I’m searching for the way and cannot see it. Yet I am called to trust that the Shepherd is there to guide me. One who leads me in right paths for his own name’s sake. One who wants only what is good for me, and all the sheep who are part of God’s flock.
I have a hunch that the 23rd Psalm may be the most beloved passage in the whole Bible. Even for those who never step inside a church. This may be the only scripture they can identify. It speaks to us. It speaks to them. They’ve heard it somewhere before.
There’s something good about simple repetition, isn’t there? Hearing it over and over. In this place and that. Like memorizing a piece of music. We go over it until it becomes internalized and imbedded within us. This Shepherd God finds a way to dwell within our lives. And to stay there. So that when we need God, God is not far away.
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Do you know what’s at the very centre of the 23rd Psalm? I’m speaking, first of all, about the literary centre of it. What do we find there, at the heart of this familiar passage?
It’s this line: “You are with me.” There are 26 Hebrew words before it, and 26 that follow after.[1] But there, precisely in the middle of the Psalm, we find this line.
Our Shepherd God provides for us in many ways: green pastures, still waters. A table set before us. A cup that overflows. All these wonderful promises! And each one is worth holding onto, pondering and treasuring in our hearts. But the line at the very centre is this: “You are with me.”
And it strikes me that it’s not only the literary centre of the Psalm, but the theological one as well. God is with us! Is there any greater assurance than that? Wherever we are – whether our pasture is green and lush – or dry and spent. Whether our cup is filled to overflowing – or completely empty. Whether the valley we’re walking through is bright with sunshine and optimism – or dark with clouds and despair. We will fear no evil, “For Thou art with me.”
You’re with me God! I’m not alone. There is no place in our lives – either individually or collectively – that our loving God is not present. God is right here with us. Even through the valley of the shadow of death. That valley comes to all of us. Jesus walked there too.
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There’s something else I want you to notice about that line. The voice of the Psalmist changes. Up until this point we’ve been learning about God: “The Lord is my shepherd.” He makes me lie down. He leads me. He restores my soul.
The Psalmist speaks in the third person. (For those of you who have forgotten your rules of grammar, “third person” means we’re talking about someone or something else.) The Psalmist is speaking about God. And we are being instructed in the ways of God.
But now there’s a change that takes place. So the language is no longer “third person.” It addresses God directly. (I always wanted to be an English teacher – can you tell?) But why is this significant? Here’s the thing: This is the place where the 23rd Psalm becomes a prayer!
Now the Psalmist speaks to God. This is the language of conversation, one on one. This is the language of intimacy and love. This is not about a God out there. But a God right here. “You are with me; your rod, your staff, they comfort me.”
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Fred Kane tells a wonderful story about a British-American actor name Charles Laughton. He was famous for his ability to recite biblical texts. He had a beautiful voice and his timing and intonation were impeccable.
At a dinner party one evening, Laughton was called upon to recite the 23rd Psalm, which he did. Then they went around the room and others were invited to offer something as well.
There was an older woman sitting in the corner. She was nearly deaf ,so she hadn’t heard what had gone before. She stood up and started to repeat what the actor had just performed. It was embarrassing, an awkward situation.
Yet before she finished, those in the room were swept up by the power of it. Some even began to weep. Afterwards, someone asked the actor why her reading was so moving when she didn’t have any of the skills that he had. His answer was simple: “I know the psalm,” he said. “But that lady knows the shepherd.”[2]
She knows this God who “is with us!” There’s a difference between knowing about God, and knowing God. Living with God, conversing with God. Praying. “You are with me.”
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In our Gospel reading, Jesus says a most remarkable thing: “I am the good shepherd.” Do you recognize the words of the Psalm that lie behind it? Those same words about a God who shepherds us. A God who promises goodness and mercy and a dwelling place forever.
“Goodness and mercy all my life
shall surely follow me,
and in God’s house forevermore
my dwelling place shall be.”
https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=47679 [retrieved April 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Good_shepherd_m2.jpg." width="187" height="128" />
I know you’ve heard these things before! Many times. You do remember, don’t you? The astounding thing is that Jesus takes those familiar words and applies them to himself: I am that shepherd who cares, guides, and protects the flock from harm.
Jesus is the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for you and me. “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. (John 10:14-15)
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We are not rocks on a hillside overlooking the sea. Rocks that have no feelings or needs.
We are living beings. We grow tired and we need rest. We are hungry and we need to eat. We get lost and we need someone to show us the way.
We need that Good Shepherd. We need Jesus. We need that promise that he will always be with us. Well I do, anyway. And I guess maybe you do too.
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[1] James Howell, Pastor, Myers Park United Methodist Church, Charlotte, NC. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?tab=1# Accessed April 27, 2009
[2] Fred Kane, PNCL listserve, April 28, 2009.
